Under one Roof
by Arcane Assassin
Summary: Anyone would be ecstatic to be sharing a room with a potential love interest; too bad for Fleur, her's can't stand her, that and Gabrielle is determined to make this as difficult for her as she can.
1. Chapter 1

**This story is supposed to be a sort of linear collection of one-shots, so expect major jumps in time or important details revisited out of sequence; it will probably only span for the entire Fourth Year, but I guess we'll see. It is also going to end up as a FleurXHermione story, though it will take a while for any real interaction between the two to occur, so if you're a patient person you may enjoy this.**

**This is my first venture into the Harry Potter world, and I hope it is a worthy read, enjoy!**

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"You do know that they're not supposed to get any help with the tasks right, Hermione?"

"Obviously, but do you honestly believe that Karkaroff and Madame Maxime aren't practically spoon feeding their champions in order to improve their chances of winning? Besides, I don't actually want Harry to die competing in this tournament, because then I'd just be stuck with you, Ronald."

"Thanks Hermione."

Hermione simply laughed at the stricken expression on Harry's face, playfully shoving him, the Golden egg clasped firmly in her other hand, as the three headed back to Gryffindor Tower after yet another unsuccessful afternoon spent trying to decipher the horrendous shrieks that erupted from within the egg every time it was opened.

The playful laughter died however, as they entered the common room, filled as it was with,

"Why are there Beauxbatons students in _our _common room?"

There in the middle of the common room, surrounding Professor McGonagall, were no less than eight Beauxbatons girls, each holding what appeared to be a small overnight bag. The trio's entrance had not gone unnoticed, with the unexpected guests all turning in their direction at Hermione's rather loud observation.

To her credit, she had the grace to look embarrassed, trying to hide behind Harry, while simultaneously pushing the egg back into his possession.

"Bloody hell!"

Groaning quietly as more eyes narrowed in on them, more than a few bearing bemused expression, as a single figure saw fit to make their presence known. Among the other girls stood none other, much to Hermione's chagrin, than the Beauxbatons' Champion, Fleur Delacour.

"Ah, Miss Granger, I'm glad I've caught you." The head of Gryffindor House beckoned the stunned brunette forward. Gesturing to the group of girls surrounding her, she continued, "It would seem as if the Beauxbatons Carriage has suffered some serious damage in its landing. What with all the rain, several of the quarters have been flooded; as such Professor Dumbledore has asked that we temporarily house their displaced students while repairs are completed."

Hermione frowned at the news, somewhat surprised that in this world of magic such a thing had not already been resolved, but more importantly not understanding why Professor McGonagall was telling her all this.

"So?" She asked, starting to have a vague idea as to why she had been singled out.

"So, Miss Granger, we will be needing to borrow your bed for the meantime; Professor Dumbledore suggested that we split the students between the dormitories of the four houses, filling any empty beds, and taking a single bed from those dorms that do not have any room for the extra students. As yours was the neatest within your dormitory it has been commandeered. Miss Weasley assured me in your absence that this would not be a problem." Looking over the rims of her square spectacles, it was obvious that she expected no argument to the contrary.

After throwing a glowering look in the direction of the youngest Weasley, one that was studiously ignored, Hermione forced a smile, before asking, "Of course Professor, but if you don't mind me asking, where am I supposed to sleep?"

Keeping her eyes firmly fixed on McGonagall's face as she waited for an answer, she could feel a pair of deep blue eyes staring at her intently. It took everything she had not to glare at the unwanted intruder, fervently hoping that _she_ wouldn't be the one sleeping in her bed. Although, if that did turn out to be the case she hoped that she could get some Itching Powder from Fred and George to make her stay particularly uncomfortable.

"Well, you can either share with one of your dorm mates; have accommodation set up here in the common room, or share with one of our guests."

Ginny looked up at that, calling over to the frozen brunette, "You can share with me Hermione if you'd like."

Said brunette's eyes widened in horror, looking over at her redheaded friend, "Absolutely not. No. Never. You couldn't _pay_ me enough." The other Gryffindor's looked on in amusement at Hermione's vehement refusal, with even some of the Beauxbatons students trying to hide their smiles at the outburst.

Ginny looked offended at the overenthusiastic response, "Why not?" She shot back indignantly.

Hermione looked at her as if she was mad, "Why not? Why n- because you are possibly the _worst_ person to share a bed with. _Ever_. You fidget like crazy, steal all the blankets, your feet are always freezing, and you chase people in your sleep!"

"I do not!"

"Yes, you do."

"I think I would notice if I did something like that." The younger girl huffed, crossing her arms defensively in front of her, cheeks blazing at being the centre of attention.

Hermione mirrored her stance, eyebrow raised provocatively. "You think so? So I guess you also think I rather like sleeping on the floor as well?" Ginny looked down shamefacedly at that, having on multiple occasions woken to find Hermione sprawled on the floor over the summer. "I didn't think so." She snapped, turning back to Professor McGonagall, flushing deeply as if only just realising that almost every pair of eyes were fixed firmly on her, McGonagall's bemused expression doing little to alleviate her growing horror.

"Do you have a preference for sleeping arrangements then, Miss Granger?" a shallow smile pulling at the corners of the House Head's mouth.

Hermione sighed quietly, rubbing her eyes tiredly. Shooting a furtive glance around the room, studiously avoiding looking at the foreign students, she found no forthcoming offers to share. _Looks like it's the Common Room for me then_, as she was about to inform her Head of House that it would be best if one of the couches was transfigured into a bed come curfew, a small figure came darting out from the huddle of blue uniforms.

"'Ermione!" The small blur of blue and blonde crashed into Hermione, forcing her back into Ron who had been loitering behind her with a dumbstruck expression on his face.

Successfully regaining her footing, amidst muffled curses from Ron, Hermione looked down at the small figure clinging to her waist.

"Gabrielle!" The younger Delacour gave her a cheeky grin, gripping her tighter and Hermione returned the embrace, lifting her up slightly, rocking her from side to side. "I take it this means your room was flooded too?" She questioned, setting the younger girl back on her feet.

Gabrielle nodded furiously in response, "Oui, I share weez ma sœur aînée, we 'ad to 'ave a bucket under zhis big 'ole in zhe roof!" Using her hands for emphasis, showing (no doubt an exaggeration) the size of the proposed hole, which would need a bathtub, not a bucket, to catch all the water it would let in.

"Indeed!" Came Hermione's amused response, gently stroking her hair, painfully aware of a very similar set of piercing blue eyes to the ones gazing up at her at that moment focused clearly on the side of her face, and they were not nearly as amused.

"Oui, so now we 'ave to sleep 'ere!" Turning those big blue eyes onto her surroundings, as if only seeing them for the first time, she was clearly enamoured by the Gryffindor common room.

"A travesty, I'm sure," Came Hermione's measured response, trying not to laugh at Gabrielle's obvious fascination with her surroundings.

"A what?" Confusion written all over the younger girl's face, her grasp of English not nearly as advanced as the older Beauxbatons students.

"Travesty," Hermione repeated, still studiously ignoring the piercing gaze that felt as if it was attempting to melt the side of her face off, "It means… never mind." Smiling at the bundle of blonde and blue attached to her waist, increasingly amused by her acceptance of such a lacklustre response.

"Bien," She continued, not to be deterred by foreign words, "You can sleep with me!" She announced, looking rather pleased with herself, completely oblivious to the stifled laughter that seemed to be rising in its vocality, alongside the horrified expressions of the Beauxbatons girls.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek at the announcement, and without thinking felt her gaze flick over to meet the increasingly unamused one of the elder Delacour as if asking permission to share with her little sister. Fleur's expression was carefully neutral, but Hermione could feel the displeasure in her gaze as if it were a physical force.

She didn't know how to refuse the younger Delacour's suggestion, getting the feeling that she wasn't really asking for permission, rather, demanding that Hermione share with her and no one else. "I'm not sure…" She started, trying to pretend that the persistent glare being directed at the side of her head had nothing to do with her response. But upon seeing the disappointed look on Gabrielle's face, she found she couldn't refuse, "You don't steal the blankets do you?"

The smile Gabrielle gave her was nothing short of breathtaking; the giggle that erupted from her as she threw her arms tighter around the older witch was absolutely adorable, and Hermione felt she had made the right choice, even if she had to try and hide the wince at the increased intensity levied through those intense blue eyes from across the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**I am actually quite surprised at the reception this fic received, so i thank you for your support and encouragement. Someone mentioned that they didn't get why Hermione and Gabrielle were so chummy, so i figured i might regale you with an annexed version of their meeting, but also to set the scene for future Fleur/Hermione interactions. **

**Enjoy!**

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"How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Meet _her _of course!"

Hermione frowned as she flicked her hair out of her face in annoyance, struggling to keep her balance on the moving trunk while retaining a firm grip on the golden egg, or 'The Banshee' as Ron so eloquently dubbed it.

"When I was on holidays in France, the summer before last," came her distracted response, griping the trunk tighter with her legs as they passed over a particularly rough patch of ground. Almost slipping from her perch, she let out a startled squeak, struggling to keep a hold of the egg, "Honestly Harry, can't you move a little smoother?"

"Yes, well," he grumbled out between gritted teeth, "It's hardly my fault that Ron is a lumbering giant, is it?"

Ron snorted in response, fixing his grip on the handle, pulling in a deep breath before retorting, "Well it's not my fault that you're a skinny, shrimpy git is it?"

At that Harry relinquished his hold of the trunk, sending it, and Hermione, tumbling to the ground with a loud thump. Hermione let out a shriek as she collided with the muddy turf, the egg sent flying out of her hands as she landed. Ron let his end of the trunk hit the ground, dropping it completely, laughing at Hermione's stunned expression.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" Came her rather shrill cry, causing both boys to recoil, wincing slightly as they did so. Harry had the grace to look somewhat sheepish under his red faced exhaustion, while Ron simply looked at her as if she was mad.

"Well, that's what you get for acting like the bloody queen; honestly, do we look like pack horses to you?" Dusting off the seat of her pants, grimacing at the wetness she found there, she raised a single delicate eyebrow at the redhead's outburst, daring him to encourage a reply.

He flushed red in response, dropping her gaze, muttering an apology under his breath, "… 'sides, Harry dropped you first…"

Turning away from the pair, she took in their surroundings, figuring that they were far enough away from the castle to try this ludicrous experiment without drawing too much attention to their activities.

"Right, well, we should be fine here, open it up then," She ordered, wandering into the nearby bushes to locate the egg. She could have sworn it flew off in this direction when she landed rather unceremoniously on her backside. She reminded herself never to let the boys carry her anywhere in future, wincing as she felt the beginning of a bruise forming as she bent over to retrieve the egg, dusting off the mud, leaves and chunks of grass now sticking to the golden surface in her hands.

Walking back to the boys, she found them standing around the open trunk, tossing the Quaffle back and forth, waiting for her return. The bludgers rattled dangerously in their restraints, and the snitch was safely tucked away in its little hole behind the school crest. At Ron's feet sat the beater's bat – the reason they had commandeered the Quidditch chest in the first place.

Staring rather apprehensively at the short bat, she let out a shaky breath, trying to think of some way to talk the boys out of this mad attempt to get the egg to reveal its secrets.

"Harry," She started, the boy swinging round to face her only to have the Quaffle collide with the back of his head. She winced as he cradled it in his hands, shooting a rather dirty look at Ron who only grinned apologetically in response, "You do realise that if we do this it may get stuck open and then we'll have to live with its screeching twenty-four seven?"

Still rubbing his head, Harry looked up at her, pushing his glasses back up his nose, shrugging as he did so, "It did cross my mind, but seriously, I think we're running out of ideas here…" He trailed off, looking quite apprehensively at the bat as well.

Ron, however, looked exceptionally miffed, "You're telling me that we just lugged this hunk of junk, with you on top of it, all the way from the Quidditch pitch, to somewhere in the forest to try out _my_ idea, only to tell us _now_ that you're getting cold feet?!" He threw his hands in the air to emphasise his disbelief, turning around grumbling as he did, "… and you won't even tell me how you know Fleur…"

Hermione sighed exasperatedly at him, tucking the egg firmly under her arm so she could put both hands on her hips, eyebrow raised dangerously at the fuming ginger, "For the last time, _Ronald_, I don't know Fleur, I know _Gabrielle_!"

"Well they're sisters; you gotta know at least something about her!" He retorted, just as vehemently.

"Well, I am so sorry to disappoint – if anything I got the impression that she didn't like me at all, probably thought I was just some random muggle sullying her sister…"

Harry looked up from twirling the Quaffle between his hands, head quirked curiously at her. All too late Hermione realised she had effectively put her foot in her mouth, and with the way Ron's eyes lit up at the mention of seeing the French champion outside of Hogwarts, she knew that they wouldn't make any progress with the egg until she at least regaled them with some part of her holiday.

"Ok, fine," throwing her hands up in much the same fashion as Ron only moments earlier, egg forgotten, letting the infernal thing tumble to the ground. She re-closed the lid on the Quidditch trunk, pushing the bat away with her foot, and sat herself down.

"I was in France the summer before last, my parents thought it would be a good idea, they like to travel you see," She trailed off here, remembering with a certain degree of fondness the multitude of vacations she had taken with her parents – just this summer, before the Quidditch World Cup, she had been in Germany, going on tours through the Black Forest, visiting Worms, even going to visit a monastery where they used sourdough from the sixteenth century!

"Anyways, I got lost, my French wasn't exactly up to par and the map I had was very confusing – all the street names looked and sounded virtually the same!" She added indignantly at the bemused expressions on her friend's faces. Tossing her hair out of her face once more, she continued with a rather annexed version of events, "Well, I was wandering around aimlessly, and ended up walking right into Gabrielle." She smiled fondly at the memory, chuckling at how they had both tried to speak, but neither really understanding the other; it made for some very interesting conversations.

Realising she had just been sitting there silently for a moment or two, the boys waiting on her to elaborate, she just gave them a disbelieving stare, shaking her head as she once again reached for the egg that had rolled behind the trunk, studiously ignoring their silent pleading for more.

"That's it?" Ron burst out, thoroughly displeased, "What about Fleur? How did you meet her?"

Hermione sighed in response, musing quietly that she had been doing that an awful lot today. "Gabrielle and I got to talking, badly – she didn't speak much English, and I couldn't speak French to save my life – but really, she was bored, and learning another language seemed as good a way as any to spend her summer. She got me back to my hotel, gave me her address, we spent more time together, developing our language skills," She paused for breath, knowing that she was really skirting around what they really wanted to know, but really, what could she tell them? She never spoke to Fleur that summer, was never introduced to her, and didn't see the fascination that the others, Harry more reserved than Ron, held for the older girl.

"And?" Came Ron's rather rude interruption again, waving his hands for her to continue, brow furrowed at her continual avoidance of sharing the details of her and Fleur's fated meeting.

"I went to Gabrielle's summer home _once_," Placing a heavy emphasis on the last word, staring pointedly at Ron as she did so, "Fleur was there," She held up a hand to forestall any interruption on Ron's behalf, "I was waiting in the entrance hall for Gabrielle to come down, and Fleur was standing at the top of the stairs on the landing, glaring down at me." She shrugged at the memory, still unable to fathom what she had done to elicit the older girl's wrath.

"So you never spoke to her?" Harry asked in that quiet voice of his, Quaffle forgotten in his hands, eyes fixed firmly on his only female friend.

"Never."

Ron grumbled in disbelief, but held his peace as Hermione moved from her seat atop the trunk, stooping to pick up the bat, before replacing the Quaffle with the egg in Harry's hands.

"Well if we're going to do this, we may as well get on with it." Taking her position, she gripped the bat fiercely, adjusting her stance, trying to remember everything her father had taught her about softball – she had been a rather decent batter as a child, 'A-league potential' her coach had said, but she had been so caught up in her books, and then magic, that the sport had kind of been put on a back burner for her.

"Ready?" Harry asked, pulling back the arm that clutched the egg; Ron had retreated behind Hermione, ready to catch it should she miss.

And Hermione never missed.

At least, not when she was playing every weekend and had training three times a week.

And that had been nearly five years ago.


	3. Chapter 3

**I know this is about two weeks late, but life has been rather crazy lately - though just a warning I still have 1 assignment and 4 exams to go so I apologise for any future delays in chapters, not that that's really your problem... Anyways, this is more of a filler chapter, and yes the next one is under way, but I hope you enjoy it regardless.**

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"Remind me again why you haven't joined the Quidditch team? You would be an epic Beater!"

"Because, Ronald," Hermione ground out between clenched teeth, washing the mud, grass and leaf litter from the egg's surface, wincing at the chill of the water in the Black Lake, "I prefer to keep my feet firmly on the ground, thank you very much."

Rising from her knees, satisfied that she had gotten most of the dirt off, grimacing as her back cricked at the motion. After an hour looking for the egg after Harry's first pitch, Hermione was more than ready to return to the castle, acquiescing to yet another failure at getting the egg to reveal its secrets.

Ron had been rather impressed with Hermione's batting skills, having sent the egg flying off deeper into the forest on her first swing. With the beauty of hindsight, Hermione reasoned that perhaps it would have been better if Ron had been standing behind Harry instead of her, but alas, that was not the case. So instead the three of them had been looking under every shrub and tree root, until rather exasperated with their search, Hermione had pulled out her wand and accio-ed the damn thing to her.

After a minute or two just standing there, thinking it another failure, the familiar whiz of an object whizzing through the air became known to their ears. Harry and Hermione were able to duck in time, leaving Ron to be pelted with the egg; other than being a little winded, he was alright, regaling them with the well skilled timing of his catch all the way to the lake.

Shaking off the excess water, she shoved the egg into Harry's hands, moving back into the forest to relocate the Quidditch trunk – she wasn't at all willing to summon that particular item. Surprisingly it took them about half an hour to locate the trunk, Ronald going on and on about his Keeper potential, only digressing enough to try and convince Hermione that not only was Quidditch the best thing in the whole world, but that if she chose to play for the team then she could really be counted as one of the boys.

Ron kept his peace after that particular comment, now nursing an egg-shaped bruise on the back of his head.

Egg now firmly back in her possession, acting as a deterrent from any further comment by either boy, all three let out silent sighs of relief upon catching sight of the trunk, sitting quite nicely right where they had left it. Both boys moved to grasp the handles, tucking the Quaffle and Beater's bat back in their proper place, with Harry offering Hermione her former perch atop the closed lid.

Feeling the definite formation of a bruise on her backside she declined the offer, choosing instead to lead the way back to the castle; it was Harry's poor sense of direction that had gotten them so lost trying to relocate the Quidditch trunk in the first place.

It was a relatively solemn group that trekked its way across the Hogwarts grounds heading towards the Quidditch storeroom, Ron eyeing the golden weapon in Hermione's hands all the while, with both boys gasping and red faced by the time they reached their destination.

A single raised eyebrow was all it took to silence Ron's grumbling about missing lunch, though both Harry and Hermione were just relieved that this particular experiment hadn't ended in disaster with the egg being stuck open, subjecting them to its ear-splitting wailing permanently. It was actually the quick stop at the castle kitchens, Hermione frowning darkly at Ron as he stuffed his face on the goods thrust at him by the overeager house elves, which led Hermione to another brainwave concerning the egg. With a hurried goodbye she left the two boys behind rushing towards the library.

"Mental that one," Ron mumbled around a mouthful of egg sandwich, Harry nodding absentmindedly in agreement as Dobby chatted happily to him, regaling him with every new addition of clothing.

The egg lay forgotten on an empty table in the library, Hermione hidden deep in the shelves browsing for any books she could find on translating charms or silencing ones; anything she could find involving volume and noise modulation was added to the towering stack of tomes beside her. It took her three trips to bring back as many resources as she could find to her chosen desk, only to find on her last journey someone sitting in her seat, egg spinning between their hands.

"Gabrielle, what are you doing here?" Hermione was genuinely surprised to see the bubbly blonde sitting there. It was a Sunday so she had assumed, falsely apparently, that the young girl would be spending some quality time with her sister.

Gabrielle looked up at the exclamation, her face splitting into her signature cheeky grin, as she practically leapt from her seat to hug Hermione. It was a rather awkward attempt given the sheer amount of tomes clutched in the older girl's arms, but they managed, though Gabrielle would probably be nursing that bump on her shoulder for some time.

Pulling Hermione back to the table, after graciously offering to relieve her of one book, her small frame couldn't really accommodate much more than that, she began to regale the older girl with her, no doubt, epic tale.

"Well, I was supposed to spend zhe day weez ma sœur, 'owever, she eez busy, so I 'ave been looking for you!" Though she tried to hide it with her smile, Hermione could see that Gabrielle was quite miffed that she had been passed over by Fleur for some unknown reason.

Not really knowing what to say to the younger girl, Hermione merely nodded, setting her armload down on the table, unsure if Gabrielle would be awfully offended if she started organising the books into those that looked most promising before delving into her research.

Gabrielle for her part simply frowned at the egg on the table, jabbing it with an accusatory finger, "Are you supposed to 'ave zhis? Zhe champions aren't supposed to receive any outside help, oui?"

Hermione flushed at the comment, struggling to hold her tongue in response, knowing it would be quite rude to declare that her sister was being spoon-fed by their headmistress; and aside from the first task, she had no real proof that such a thing was true.

So instead she settled for the relative neutrality of a shrug, pulling one of the towering stacks towards her, carefully considering her options: she could studiously ignore the girl and think of something to redirect her attention to, respond rather rudely and claim that Harry's youth and unwillingness to be in this tournament allowed him some leeway in the matter, or reply that she's just looking after the egg until Harry comes back, which will never happen, exposing the lie.

She settled for redirecting Gabrielle's attention.

"Why was Fleur so busy that she couldn't spend the day with you?"

Immediately the girl bristled, obviously very sore over the fact that she had been passed over, again.

"Well, I 'ad been begging Madame to let me go to your leetle village, 'Ogsmead, oui? Well, she finally agreed to let me go under one condition, zhat ma sœur was to accompany me, so I asked 'er, she said eet would be fine, but zhen, zhis morning she goes zhat she eez too busy and zhat to get someone else to go weez me!" She harrumphed rather loudly at the conclusion of her rant, arms crossed angrily in front of her, looking remarkably like her elder sister as she did so, only more juvenile, lacking the grace such a movement commanded from Fleur.

Hermione gave Gabrielle what she hoped was a sympathetic look, ruffling up the younger girl's hair in condolence, a gesture she did not appreciate, but made Hermione smile, before turning back to her books.

Surprisingly Gabrielle was content to sit there for a while, alternating between staring at the egg and spinning it on its side on the table. Hermione should have known it was too good to be true, and predictably the energetic blonde grew bored, so resorted to her newest pass-time: bothering Hermione.

Seeing the girl open her mouth to make an attempt at conversation, Hermione beat her to it,

"Yes?"

The girl noticeably slumped at the interruption, a soft blush colouring her cheeks, but she was not to be deterred; she never was.

"Are you trying to figure out zhe clue?" She asked quietly, suddenly hyper aware that she was in the library, but also that they were being watched.

Hermione froze, unsure on how to proceed; it would be rather stupid to say no, when the presence of the egg, not to mention the content of the books she was currently reading all pointed to that fact. But to say yes would be to admit that she was helping Harry, and while she didn't think Gabrielle would really report her to anyone, the chances of this getting back to the wrong people were too high.

Gabrielle shot a cautious look over Hermione's shoulder, trying to see how close their unobserved observer was. She winced as she made eye contact, leaning closer to Hermione as she did so. She liked Hermione a lot, and Harry was one of Hermione's friends, so by extension he was important to her; it couldn't hurt to give them a little clue, right?

Trying to be as unobtrusive as she could under both the watchful eye in the bookshelves and the amused one beside her, she made a grab for one of Hermione's spare pieces of parchment, she pulled it towards herself, quill in hand, waiting for a particular _someone_ to stop her.

In fact, she was so surprised when no one did that she found herself unable to write even a single word on the parchment. Hermione waited patiently for Gabrielle to do something, but she just continued to stare dumbly at the space before her, so as gently as she could, she extracted the quill, she only carried the one on her person, and continued to write notes on promising spells.

Gabrielle for her part started folding the parchment into a paper plane, but it was too heavy to go anywhere and ended up with a very crumpled nose.

But what she did notice was that they were no longer being watched, and she couldn't help but wonder why _they_ had been there in the first place.


	4. Chapter 4

The library had always been something of a refuge for Hermione; whenever she was confused or lost she could simply delve into its depths and become absorbed in its treasures. However, with the approach of Christmas, and subsequently the Yule Ball, even Hermione, tucked away in a far corner, could scarcely concentrate for the dull roar that seemed to fill the room.

Or more specifically, the flock of giggling girls that seemed to congregate whenever Viktor Krum deigned to grace these hallowed depths.

Two weeks until the Winter Break started, and the Professors weren't showing any sign of letting up the tremendous workload, if anything, many of them saw fit to increase it. And with the extra bodies now gracing the common room, Hermione could barely get any work done there, not surrounded by drooling boys.

It also meant that Gabrielle had to actually search for her.

Now Hermione had nothing but the highest regard for the youngest Delacour, coupled with the fact that she was utterly adorable, but with the mountains of homework and last minute tests being heaped on the fourth years, she really couldn't entertain the young girl every minute of every day; she was already being escorted to most of her classes by the perky little blonde, with the little charmer even sweet-talking her way into a few under the pretence of simply observing, but really to sit with Hermione.

Only Professor Flitwick allowed her to come back after the first lesson, totally enamoured with the enthusiastic pre-teen, others, particularly Snape and McGonagall, made it quite clear that her presence was not welcome, as it not only distracted Hermione but the rest of the class too. Though, just quietly, Gabrielle was quite pleased to never have to go to the Potions classroom again.

It would seem that the young blonde had grown quite attached to Hermione, practically sitting on top of her at meals, having long since abandoned sitting at the Ravenclaw table in favour of eating with the Gryffindor's who welcomed the vibrant blonde into their masses. Even upon retiring to her dormitory, Gabrielle wouldn't be too far behind, even if she wasn't at all tired.

And it all came down to the fact that she was bored.

Being only nine years old she couldn't really attend classes as a first year; and she couldn't very well sit in on the seventh year classes that Fleur attended as the subject matter was not always appropriate for tender eyes and ears, particularly Defence against the Dark Arts with Professor Moody. So what was she to do for the majority of the day? There was only so much that the small girl could do to occupy herself with in the partially flooded Beauxbatons carriage, and the Hogwarts library only held so much appeal when Hermione wasn't there with her – there weren't that many books written in French, and while the young girl's English had improved it was nowhere near good enough to tackle the few novels available.

So trailing after Hermione, or making a nuisance of herself, were really the only things she could do. She was starting to feel very neglected by her own sister, who was far too busy working on preparing for the Second Task or completing school work or refusing dates to the Yule Ball that was coming up; if she had known everything would be this boring she wouldn't have agreed to come to support her in the first place.

And so Hermione, who would never admit it, was actually hiding from the youngest Delacour. This meant that she would a) actually be able to complete some of the assignments that had been piling up (trying to write on her dorm bed with Gabrielle inconveniently perched on her lap was far too distracting to get anything of value done), and b) it gave the curious little blonde something to do – Hermione Hunting, as Harry so charmingly phrased it.

Hermione was actually very pleased with her current spot; she had been successfully hiding there for the past three hours, and much to her relief had managed to make a substantial dent in the amount of essays due in the next few days. Throwing down her quill with a sigh, she began to work the cramp that had developed in her right hand after furiously writing seven foot-and-a-half papers in three hours; with the weekend starting tomorrow she knew she wouldn't have a chance to escape Gabrielle from the time she woke up to the time she went to sleep.

And the only reason she had managed to today was because she had Potions that afternoon, and after her first terrifying encounter with the greasy-haired Potions Master Gabrielle had deigned to avoid walking Hermione to and from the Dungeons, granting Hermione her chance to escape into the library.

Checking her watch, she found that there was still half an hour until dinner, more than enough time to at least make a start on her Arithmancy homework. Pulling the textbook towards her, she was soon totally immersed in the complex magical equations.

A soft cough jerked her back into the present, making her jump so badly she ended up tearing a hole in her page. Looking up, expecting to see Gabrielle standing there looking very pleased with herself, she was surprised to find that it was actually Viktor Krum, the Durmstrang Champion, instead looking rather awkward.

"Can I help you with something?" She asked sweetly, putting on what she hoped was a friendly smile.

To her ever growing surprise the boy actually coloured lightly under her question, looking down at his shoes suddenly bashful, before clearing his throat awkwardly.

"I vas vondering if…" He trailed off, taking a deep breath his cheeks darkening all the while, hands twisting nervously behind his back, "if you vould like to come to the Vall vith me?" He looked back up at Hermione then, blushing all the while, yet managed to hold her gaze.

Hermione sat there dumbstruck for a moment, before the reality of the moment caught up with her, her own cheeks flooding with heat to match Krum's.

She hadn't actually expected anyone to ask her to the Ball, thinking that maybe Harry would as a last resort, but that a world famous Quidditch player, not to mention school Champion two years her senior, would be interested in a bookish, bushy-haired, know-it-all, was surprising. And very, very flattering.

Misinterpreting her silence, Krum suddenly dropped his gaze, his shoulder's drooping under the prospect of rejection, Hermione realised it must have taken him some time to gather up the nerve to approach her.

"Vut that is only if you vould vant to…" He looked about ready to leave as Hermione continued to stare at him in shock, and it wasn't until he actually took a step back that Hermione snapped out of her stupor.

"Umm…" She trailed off, looking down at her ruined homework, gently fingering the edge of her page, totally out of her depth.

As she spoke Krum perked up, his eyes following hers, noticing the rip in the page that his arrival had caused, he reached for his wand in order to repair the damage, but felt that if he fixed it now he would be practically bribing her to go with him. Instead, he waited with baited breath as Hermione struggled to form a response.

Taking a deep breath to gather her thoughts, Hermione tried to consider the proposal logically. Krum, _Viktor_, she mentally corrected herself, seemed like a rather sweet boy, and it was obvious, that even with his substantial fame, that it had taken him a lot of courage to ask her to go with him. He wasn't all that bad looking either and he looked so hopeful, she felt it would be cruel to refuse simply because she didn't want the attention she was bound to garner by accepting, and it wasn't like anyone else was going to ask her anyway.

"Yeah, okay, I'd like that."

Krum released a breath he didn't realise he had been holding, a boyish grin making him look much younger than his seventeen years stealing over his face. "Good," he said simply, continuing to smile, taking her hand in his, and ignoring the ink-stains on her fingers, pressing a chaste kiss to the back.

Seemingly at a loss for words, he nodded at her as he released her hand, before backing out of the little enclosure, unwilling to take his eyes off of her, that same smile distorting his normally sullen expression. He flushed deep red when he backed into one of the bookshelves hiding Hermione's little nook from the rest of the world, scrambling to pick up the books he had knocked over, still red and smiling as he finally disappeared from view.

Hermione laughed softly to herself as she packed up her things; he really was very sweet.

Just as she was about to exit her little hidey-hole, exceptionally pleased that Gabrielle hadn't managed to find her, meaning she should be able to use this spot again in the future, a small bundle of blonde and blue walked right into her.

"'Ermione!" It took everything in her not to sigh in disappointment that her latest spot had been found; clearly she had spoken too soon. She supposed it wasn't so bad, and she couldn't really fault the young girl for suffering from neglect from her sister.

"Having a rough day are we? It only took you," turning to her watch intent on drawing the little game out, she missed the serious expression on the younger girl's face, "nearly four hours to find me, one would think you were running out of places to look." She smiled cheekily at the youngest Delacour, only for her smile to fall within seconds as she saw the determined expression on Gabrielle's face.

"'Ermione," she began, taking the older witch's hand in her own, coincidentally the same one that Viktor had kissed, "would you like to go to zhe Ball weez moi?" She looked so serious that Hermione couldn't help the strangled laugh that escaped her.

Gabrielle turned red much like Krum had earlier, but she continued to stare fiercely up at the older girl, holding her hand in both of her much smaller ones. Hermione felt bad for laughing, but really, this girl was too much some times.

"Eet eez not funny, I am being serious 'ere." She huffed, clearly put out by Hermione's amused reaction.

Taking a few moments to calm herself Hermione pulled the younger girl into a hug, "I know, and I wasn't laughing at you, I've just never seen you so, well, serious before," Gabrielle grumbled unintelligibly against Hermione's midriff, face still flushed. "So know that it is with the greatest regret that I must refuse."

Pulling the girl back to look at her properly, Hermione still had a trace of her earlier smile on her face. "If you had asked not even ten minutes earlier, I probably would have said yes, but as it stands, someone already asked me."

Gabrielle looked totally crestfallen, shoulders slumping head bowed as a large sigh escaped her. Hermione pulled her in for another hug as the other girl looked on the verge of tears, "Now I won't be able to go." She mumbled, clearly distressed that her one night of fun had been stolen from her.

"Why don't you ask one of the other fourth years, then? I'm sure they'll be ecstatic to be taking such a beautiful girl to the ball." Gabrielle shot her a disbelieving look, well aware that no boy, or girl, would want to be seen as so desperate that they would take a nine year old girl to the Ball with them, regardless of how beautiful she was.

Hermione winced at her own tactlessness, floundering around for another idea, "What about your sister's friends? Surely one of them would be willing to take you?"

Gabrielle went rather still at that, unable to look Hermione in the eye, "Zhe oz'her Beauxbatons girls already 'ave dates for zhe most part…"

Hermione wasn't the brightest witch of her age for no reason; the unspoken message that Fleur didn't really have friends at her own school came as something of a surprise to Hermione. She had thought that the Blonde bombshell fit the criteria perfectly for being a member of the 'popular crowd'.

"Well then, what about Fleur?" Hermione was grasping at straws, and as far as she knew Fleur hadn't agreed to go with any of the boys who swamped her at every opportunity.

Gabrielle looked absolutely horrified at the suggestion.

"Ma sœur? You want moi to go to a _Ball_ weez ma sœur? C'est impossible!" Gabrielle actually took a step away from Hermione, leaving her embrace, all the while looking rather nauseated by the thought of being caught dead attending a social event being escorted by her sister.

"Right. Of course," Hermione sighed, grabbing the younger girl's hand before pulling her swiftly towards the entrance, making sure to take several unnecessary turns in the hopes that in a few days' time Gabrielle would have forgotten how to find the little study nook.


	5. Chapter 5

Dinner passed rather uneventfully, though Hermione couldn't help but feel like someone was staring at her. As inconspicuously as possible, she let her gaze wander around the Hall, only half paying attention to the conversations going on around her. Her eyes settled on the red robed figures at the end of the Slytherin table, and found Viktor with ease; he was currently engaged in deep conversation with one of the other Durmstrung boys, but as though feeling Hermione's gaze on him he gave her a brief smile upon meeting her gaze.

Realising that he was not the source of her discomfort she let her gaze continue to wander until it came to the Ravenclaw table, stopping just short of the congregation of Beauxbatons girls. Suddenly the feeling of being watched became eerily familiar, and she deliberately turned her eyes back onto her plate lest she make eye contact with those all too familiar piercing blue eyes.

"Hermione?"

Hermione jerked up at the sound of her name, only to meet the slightly concerned gaze of Harry who had watched her subtle observation of the hall, obviously looking for someone.

Hermione gave him a soft smile, watching as he quirked his head to the side, silently asking if she was ok. Eyes flicking up the length of the Gryffindor table, masking the slight shake of her head, his eyes following her gaze to mask his own nod.

She secretly loved their silent conversations, something that had developed naturally as their friendship progressed. He seemed to believe that she was fine, but resolved to ask her about it later as her attention was forcibly redirected to the bouncing blonde next to her.

"Sorry Gabrielle, what were you saying?" Hermione smiled apologetically at the pouting girl, somewhat contrite that she had been completely ignoring the younger girl.

Gabrielle for her part, puffed out her cheeks, her pout deepening, not at all pleased that she had been talking to herself for the better part of the meal; Hermione had completely missed her blow by blow account of her latest bit of mischief – though she was secretly glad that it was now an expected thing, her sitting with the Gryffindors that is, as she was quite sure the Beauxbatons girls had been shooting her filthy looks for most of dinner.

Sitting next to them would probably be a trifle uncomfortable, seeing as Fleur would probably be inclined to scold her for her behaviour (and then some), something she had no intention of receiving, especially in such a crowded environment.

Grabbing the older girl's arm quite forcefully, making sure her attention was fully focused on herself, she repeated her last statement, (Hermione was too much of a stickler for rules to properly enjoy hearing about her pranks anyway).

"Je l'ai dit, what are you doing after dinner?" Grumbling slightly at the distracted look on Hermione's face.

"Oh," She trailed off, looking quite dazed, eyes having settled somewhere behind the young blonde, "I was going to go back to the library and finish off some work…"

"Eh? Quel ennui…" She huffed, looking over at Harry who studiously kept his eyes fixed on his plate, pretending to be listening to whatever Ron was rambling on about.

Sensing the other boy's discomfort at the inkling that he was about to be dragged into this, Hermione smiled softly at him, clearing her throat before responding to the bundle of energy beside her, "Although, Harry was planning on going down to the Quidditch pitch to play with some of the others from the team, you could go watch him if you prefer."

Harry turned a little pale at the suggestion, but he smiled, albeit a little forced, at Gabrielle. He knew Hermione was trying to palm baby-sitting off on to him, and while he had nothing against the younger girl, he had heard plenty of stories about how much of a handful she could be from Hermione.

Gabrielle thought about the proposal seriously, her brow furrowing as she considered her options: either stick to Hermione, be bored out of her mind watching the older girl study, distract her constantly and get under her feet for the next few hours before going to bed, or sit outside in the relative cold watching a group of people throw things at one another.

"Eet eez raz'her cold, oui?" She finally asked, looking between Harry and Hermione, subtly ignoring the scarfing of the redhead to Harry's right.

Harry and Hermione shared a look, with Hermione offering a small shrug to Harry's quirked head. They were natives to this climate and it was hardly a problem to them; snow was only just starting to fall, though for a native from the south of France, they figured it might be a touch colder.

In response Hermione dived into her virtually bottomless bag, at least to Gabrielle who refused to believe that the older girl could store so much stuff in the satchel, pulling out a red and gold scarf, presenting it to the younger girl.

Gabrielle's eyes went wide, blushing slightly as she accepted the gift; she was rather envious of the Hogwarts students with their thick robes, finding the Beauxbatons uniforms far too sheer for this climate. She couldn't understand why she couldn't wear warmer clothing; it wasn't as if she was an official member of the school. She shuddered at the memory of Fleur's horrified expression when she caught Gabrielle trying to put on short trousers under her skirt; the older girl had felt it a personal insult to her school, but also to her pride as a Delacour – a Delacour, no matter how young, never showed any sign of weakness.

Secretly Gabrielle was quite content to show weakness if it meant being warmer, but the expression on her sister's face deterred her from saying as much.

"Merci," She murmured in response to the gift, quickly wrapping the thick material around her neck; that it smelled of Hermione was an added bonus, and she snuggled deeply into the warm wool, inhaling the traces of the older girl's shampoo and soap.

She smirked beneath the garment, thinking of the murderous glare Fleur was probably throwing her way. Really, her older sister was so easy to tease; Gabrielle wondered why she didn't just talk to the young Gryffindor, it would be so much easier than keeping her distance, willing the other girl to notice her.

_People can be so silly_, she thought, informing Harry that she would indeed be joining him tonight, after extracting a promise from the older girl to warm her up when she got back. The blush that greeted her was absolutely adorable, and she couldn't help but think that maybe she had found someone who was more fun to tease than her sister.


	6. Chapter 6

HHermione returned to the library in something of a daze, and while dinner was hardly anything exciting she couldn't fathom the very unnerving attention being friends with Gabrielle had earned her from the elder Delacour. They could have hardly gotten off on the wrong foot because they had never officially met, and she had thought that maybe being a witch would somehow improve the older girl's opinion of her, but apparently that only seemed to make Fleur even warier.

As an only child she didn't completely understand how the sibling dynamic worked, and maybe Fleur's behaviour wasn't really anything out of the norm. Looking out for your eight year old sister (at least at the time of their meeting) was hardly a crime, in fact it was to be expected, especially when their new friend was not only five years older than them, but also foreign, a little suspicion and subtle hostility (though those glares and cold shoulders were hardly _subtle_) was perfectly natural.

Shaking her head in an attempt to dislodge the distracting thoughts, she firmly pushed said thoughts to the back of her mind, endeavouring to ask Gabrielle about it later (discretely of course, Fleur may currently be in Gabrielle's bad books but she was still her sister, and the last thing she needed to do was give Fleur more of a reason to hate her).

However, by choosing to ignore thoughts of the dashing blonde (she may not like her very much but she wasn't _blind_), all it did was distract her further. Scolding herself she pulled out her Arithmancy homework, frowning at the tear that had appeared with Krum's, _Viktor's_, she corrected, sudden appearance, she pulled out her wand instead, intent on repairing the page.

Only to nearly tear a new hole in her homework when another wand appeared over her shoulder, a single tap wordlessly reversing the damage. Gripping her chest in fright, Hermione turned around to snap at the unwanted intruder – she was more than capable of fixing her own holes, thank-you very much!

The words died in her throat at the figure behind her. Pushing thoughts of a particularly distracting subject to the back of your mind did nothing to erase them, and in this case it even seemed to summon them.

"Fleur!" She managed to squeak out, trying not to blush at the proximity between them, half the older girl's body practically leaning over her shoulder leaving very little in the way of personal space.

Everything about Fleur in that moment seemed to ooze sensuality; from the way she held her wand in those long, thin fingers, the delicate twist of her wrist, the form fitting blazer clinging to her, highlighting the sharpness of her shoulders, also doing very little to conceal the curve of her chest which seemed to be cushioning Hermione's head rather nicely.

In fact, the whole position made it rather difficult for Hermione to look at Fleur without catching a face full of, well, _that_. And the smirk pulling at the corner of the tall blonde's mouth did nothing to alleviate her uneasiness about the whole situation – if anything it made her inability to pull her eyes away from _that_ particular area all the more embarrassing because there was absolutely no way that Fleur could mistake her line of sight.

Fleur's smirk broadened as she retracted her wand arm, being sure to brush against as much of the younger girl as possible as she stepped back, enjoying the flustered look on the brunette's face. Although she began to enjoy the sensation of Hermione pressed against her front a lot less when her expression turned to a scowl, causing her to step back fully suddenly acutely aware of the position she had put the younger girl in, her sudden stroke of boldness completely worn out.

"Bonsoir," She greeted softly, hurriedly folding her hands behind her back (though not too quickly as to draw attention to the movement) in an attempt to hide the slight shake that betrayed her nerves.

Seeing that Hermione's expression would not be softening any time soon, although the soft pink in her cheeks hindered her attempt to be intimidating, Fleur took a deep breath (subtly of course), before putting on one of her most charming smiles, "I apologise for startling you, it was not my intention to do so."

Hermione nodded softly at that, trying to calm her raging heartbeat, fully intending on denying that she had in any way, shape or form enjoyed resting her head _there_, turning back to her homework as she did so.

"Its fine," She murmured, studiously avoiding looking at the older girl, fiddling with the pages in front of her. Fleur's smile faltered a bit, but she hid it well, sweeping into the open seat next to Hermione, folding her hands neatly in her lap, lest they betray her and start fiddling with anything in reach.

Fleur had spent much of dinner divided between doing two things. The first was glaring at Gabrielle as she, with much flourishing, wrapped Hermione's scarf around herself, covering her face in what was undoubtable warm wool and acting all coy towards the brunette. The rest of the time was spent gathering her nerve to approach the younger girl – and Gabrielle's constant jibes about her inability to speak in the Hermione's presence were not helping in the slightest.

The fact that Gabrielle got to share a bed with Hermione also afforded the younger Delacour some bragging rights (Fleur had glared hard at her younger sister when she proposed the idea, annoyed with herself for not thinking of it first), something Fleur had to suffer through every time the sisters were alone together.

It would seem that this little impromptu meeting was to be no different, an awkward silence settling over the pair, each dying a little from embarrassment. Fleur unable to believe that she had actually done such a thing, Gabrielle would never let her hear the end of it if the little terror ever found out; although she could always retaliate by threatening to reveal her little sister's crush on the intelligent brunette. The French were known for being rather forward in all things, but her pride and icy demeanour made such displays of affection seem impossibly out of character.

Hermione for her part was unable to believe that such a thing had happened to _her_ of all people, that incident involving one particular Hufflepuff girl last year under the mistletoe notwithstanding. She wasn't as much of a prude as everyone seemed to think she was, nor was she completely ignorant that some people would be of _that_ leaning, seeing as her first kiss had been with a girl, the fact that it had not been consensual not changing the fact that it _had_ happened, but she was still only fifteen and being that close to a _boy_ made her somewhat uneasy, but for a _girl_, especially someone like Fleur, to be all over her was, well, _something_ else entirely…

Chaste kisses had nothing on a full body contact after all. Even if there was a chair between them.

Hermione didn't even know if she was like _that_ anyway, and the French always did strike her as being more comfortable with showing affection – she had witnessed a shop keeper greet her father with a kiss after all when she was holidaying there – so Fleur may not have meant anything by it, she had more than enough experience with Gabrielle climbing all over her to not give it too much thought; or at least that's what she tried to convince herself as she busied herself with pulling out her Arithmancy textbook, studiously ignoring the blonde next to her.

Fleur for her part didn't know where to go from there. She knew what she had intended to achieve when she followed Hermione to the library, encroaching the girl's personal space not being part of the initial plan, but now that it _had_ happened she had rather lost her nerve in trying to bring up her desired topic of conversation. So instead she was forced to sit there wasting precious time watching Hermione work steadily through her homework with startling speed for such an advanced subject.

It wasn't until a Ravenclaw boy approached them that Fleur was presented with an opportunity to further her agenda with Hermione. He hesitated at the table's edge, eyes glazed and mouth parted slightly as he stared at Fleur completely star-struck. Fleur resisted the urge to roll her eyes, noticing with some panic the slight expression of distaste on Hermione's face, but turned to face the silent youth giving him her full (not really) attention as she waited for him to gather enough wits to get this whole thing over and done with.

Seeing as that would not be happening anytime soon, she raised an eyebrow daringly at him, letting her own distaste at the situation shine through. To his credit he blushed furiously, somewhat shamefacedly for staring at the blonde like a piece of meat, before stuttering out his question.

Fleur tuned him out waving her hand to cut him off before he was even half finished, signalling that he should leave with a firm, "Non."

He scurried off as quickly as he appeared, not looking too dejected, Hermione noted before turning her attention back to her homework. Fleur stared expectantly at the uncharacteristically quiet Gryffindor, stumped upon realising that unless Hermione asked the leading question first that this wouldn't go in the direction she needed.

But she was a Delacour, and Delacour's thrive under adversity.

"Boys," She muttered angrily under her breath, shaking her head in disgust, slyly looking at the girl next to her from the corner of her eye to see if she had roused her attention enough to pull her own weight in this conversation. Hermione, rather rudely, simply turned another page in her text book, studiously avoiding looking at the blonde.

Fleur, however, was not to be deterred, powering on with her line of thought, hoping to force Hermione into the one-sided conversation, "Zhey 'ave no tact, forming queues to ask a simple question, shouting across zhe 'all – there is no romance, no grand gestures, noz'hing even remotely sweet; truly I am tired of it all…"

Casting another sly glance at Hermione, the annoyed furrow on the younger girl's face caused a surge of momentary panic; had she not said the right thing? Had she somehow offended the brunette?

Hermione for her part was simply annoyed to realise that she had in fact finished her homework, losing any viable excuse to avoid conversation; as it was she had already been very rude – but in her own defence she didn't like making mistakes and conversing while completing complex magical equations was bound to result in several. With a sigh she pulled her bag onto the table carefully placing her homework inside and pulling out her Ancient Runes book in its stead.

Meanwhile, Fleur was having her own meltdown, thinking Hermione was annoyed at her and was preparing to leave.

"Zhough, grand gestures aren't everyz'hing," hastily backtracking as she realised she had painted herself as incredibly vain, "but zhese boys don't understand zhat when you ask a girl to such a public event, somez'hing zhat zhey will remember for zhe rest of zheir lives, a little charm would go a long way in making zhe night a little more… memorable," She threw in a charming smile as Hermione fished out her Ancient Runes text book, relieved that the girl wasn't leaving. Yet.

Hermione finally turned to Fleur after setting her books down, propping her chin on her hand, a slight smile pulling at her lips.

"If the English boys are proving to be such a disappointment maybe you should redirect your attention elsewhere; the Durmstrung boys are still available – one of them might be more suited to your taste."

Fleur began to feel another upsurge of panic as Hermione opened up her book, preparing to dunk her quill in the ink well; she needed to be suave, charming, but for some reason all her witty one liners seemed to dissolve in this girl's presence. She could practically hear Gabrielle's raucous laughter in her mind, knowing _exactly_ what her little sister's reaction to this piece of information would be.

"Per'aps, but I am tired with the boys, and you seem to have discounted half of your Eenglish population."

The dark flush that covered Hermione's cheeks with that comment managed to soothe some of Fleur's fears regarding her charm, eyes brightening as she realised that Hermione's reaction wasn't completely negative, but the light chuckle caused her smile to shrink somewhat, no longer quite as pleased with her little stroke of panic induced brilliance.

"You are just like Gabrielle, you know that right?" Hermione missed the furrowed brow that her comment brought out, Fleur being less than pleased with the comparison, having returned her attention to the text book in front of her.

"'ow so?" She felt a little offended that _she_ should resemble her younger sister. Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?

Not pulling her eyes from the runes in front of her, scratching out rudimentary translations as she replied, "You're both rather fond of one liners – I can see who she picked up the habit of charming everyone she meets from."

A rather self-satisfied smile replaced the furrowed brow, quite pleased with the fact that Hermione found her charming – that was what she had said, right? The thought that only _Gabrielle_ was the charming one had the frown hurrying back, along with the realisation that she had been seriously diverted from her original intention.

"Quand même, women understand romance, men do not," causally plucking the quill from Hermione's hand, ignoring the raised eyebrow as Hermione was reminded of a very similar gesture performed by another blonde, clutching her wand in her pocket, she murmured a soft incantation.

Hermione watched on in interest, keen to see another piece of wordless magic, eyes widening as she realised what Fleur had done.

Twirling the quill – now rose – between her fingers, rather pleased with the piece of transfiguration, she presented it to the stunned brunette, her charming smile back in place, "A private meeting, per'aps some flowers, much more romantic zhan calling across zhe 'all, oui?"

Hermione took the rose silently, admiring the impressive wand work; it would seem that she needed to reassess Fleur's suitability to be a Tri-Wizard champion.

"So," Fleur continued, taking Hermione's empty hand in her own, hoping desperately that she wouldn't notice the slight shake or sudden clamminess that they brought with them, once again unknowingly mirroring Gabrielle, "weez zhe mood set, would you do me zhe honour of going to zhe Ball weez moi?"

Hermione tried to hold it in, she really did, but this was really too much. She burst out laughing, pulling her hand free of Fleur's in an attempt to stifle the noise behind it.

Fleur tried to school her features to not show her embarrassment; while rejection was rare, she had never been laughed at before – boys were easy to charm, but girls normally swooned at such actions. She resisted the urge to hang her head and retreat from the library with her tail between her legs.

Seeing the pinkish tinge in the older girl's cheeks, Hermione realised her reaction was less than ideal and incredibly rude, but she couldn't stop her laughter; they really were too similar.

Reaching out to grasp Fleur's hand in her own, trying to school her features into a suitably apologetic expression, she pulled the blonde's attention back to herself, "I'm sorry, I really am, but, god," She laughed again, tightening her grip in an unusual show of affection, "The two of you really are so much alike."

Fleur tensed with the declaration, her icy demeanour coming back into play, a single delicate eyebrow raised in demand of further explanation.

Still chuckling quietly, Hermione shook her head at the situation – she goes weeks without anyone giving her a second glance, and then in one day she gets three offers, three!

"I didn't mean to laugh at you, just this whole situation is quite funny," waving the hand clutching Fleur's rose in it to emphasise the point, trying to let Fleur down easily, "I have never felt so wanted in my entire life – truly."

Fleur frowned. So Hermione wasn't laughing at her, just that she had asked her to a dance? That didn't make any sense.

"It's just that someone already asked me, today," she added, "twice."

Both of Fleur's eyebrows disappeared into her hair line but said nothing, leaving Hermione to continue her story, "And the funny thing is that I never expected to be asked by another girl, let alone two who happened to be sisters."

Fleur was seething at that last comment, internally at least, her expression stiff, only drawing a small comfort from the fact that Hermione had yet to release her hand. It was also the only reason she was still there enduring the humiliation of rejection.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled her hand from Hermione's, feigning nonchalance as she leaned back in her chair, "Ah well, I suppose I will 'ave to settle for someone else, non?" She threw in a fake smile, not wanting Hermione to see just how hurt she was by the rejection; it was her own fault really, not being able to approach the younger girl earlier, she would just have to settle for glaring at Hermione's date for the entire night.

Hermione turned back to her homework with a small smile on her face, reaching into her bag to pull out a new quill, being sure to store the rose carefully in its depths.

It was the first flower anyone had ever given her, even if it was a transfigured one.


	7. Chapter 7

**So... Hola? Yeah... it had been a while, and I'm sorry for the wait, but this semester just gone was absolutely killer, leaving no time for writing - my mojo had been completely suckered out of me, and I'm not much of a festive person (Christmas actually puts me in a bad mood) so no writing then either... Its not as long as my last chapter, but hopefully I can get back in the swing of things and start writing properly before next semester starts. I hope this was worth the wait... maybe?**

* * *

Three days. Three! Until the Yule Ball and she still didn't have a date. She was a Veela for goodness sake, it shouldn't be this hard to find someone even remotely suitable that she could take. But none of them were Hermione, so none of them were good enough. None had her thick mane of hair that she would love an opportunity to run her fingers through, or their eyes weren't the right shade of brown, always glazed over with pubescent lust, thoroughly enthralled by her presence. None of them, not a single one, could muster up any form of facial expression that wasn't dumbstruck and drooling. Especially drooling.

Unlike Hermione, who seemed to only ever wear a look of complete derision or contempt whenever they happened to catch the others gaze – and as disheartening as those expressions were it was a welcome change from the red and purpled faced stuttering miscreants that seemed to flock whenever she was around.

Although lately those looks of contempt seem to have been replaced by one of coy amusement.

Fleur made a point not to catch her eye after the first few instances left her a peculiar shade of red, and Gabrielle in a fit of giggles.

There was also that adorably cheeky smile that only ever seemed to be aimed at _that boy_, and while it inspired many a day dream where she herself was able to extract it from the young Gryffindor, it was also a little unnerving – hinting at some secret joke that you feared you would be at the butt of. And after a few run-ins with the local poltergeist, Fleur had had more than her fair share of mischief, and she didn't much fancy having a bucket of paint upended over her head, no matter how beautiful the pourer was.

Gabby for her part found the entire situation rather hilarious and made a point of reminding Fleur of that particular fact over, and over, and over again.

Hermione joined Gabrielle in her amusement, but more from the novelty of having been asked out by both Delacour's, so some of that mischief was directed at Gabby as well, even more so when she saw both sisters together. As beautiful as Hermione was when she smiled, Fleur didn't find the situation quite as endearing.

That and she really, really, wished that that smile was being directed at her for a very different reason. Preferably for saying something particularly witty or charming, but even saying anything at all was quite beyond her at present.

She, a Veela, couldn't even _speak_ to a girl. Her Grand-mère would be ashamed.

Fleur had been somewhat driven to stoop so low as to take a leaf out of Krum's book: she had been reduced to frequenting (stalking) Hermione's hangouts in the hopes of getting her 'fix' as it were. Although they changed by the day (something about Hermione Hunting) so she ended up spending most of her time in the library after wandering about for a week getting lost _looking_ for potential hangouts. _That_ had been an exhausting way to spend her time.

Although spending so much time in the library did have one perk: hours upon hours of day dreaming material featuring her favourite brunette. Every time she picked up a book, much like the one in front of her, she couldn't help but wonder if Hermione had read it, what about it had piqued her interest. Was it required reading? An extra research project? Leisure? Or was it something as simple as the title, the cover even? Or some other unfathomable reason that she would never learn?

From there Fleur would assign a reason for selection: take the book she was (not really) reading now; obviously it would have been picked as a side project, probably stumbled across while finding research for a Charms assignment. She would have remembered the title, coming back at a later date to collect it and read in what little leisure time she left herself. From there the flight of fancy would grow, including her expression as she read through it, whether she would read the entire thing diligently, or skip over the extraneous details; would she be taking copious notes as she went? That adorable furrow between her brows would be present, it always was when she was concentrating, the tip of her tongue poking out with the intensity of her concentration.

God, she was turning into a total sap. Grand-mère would turn away in shame, or smile knowingly, it was hard to tell with her sometimes, if she could see Fleur now, Maman as well. Père would just laugh, like Gabrielle, and make some quip about young love.

But all of this was currently irrelevant to her current predicament: preparing for the second task and finding a date to the ball.

The latter being the most pressing concern.

Groaning in dismay, she pushed away her current Hermione fantasy flight. Yeah, she really couldn't afford to waste any more time – three days, well more like two and a bit now, didn't give her much time at all to find a partner without two left feet. If she couldn't have Hermione she wasn't going to settle for someone who was going to make a fool of her on the dance floor. If worst came to worst she could always choose someone who already had a date and get them to stand up their current partner… But that would probably get back to Hermione, and she didn't want to antagonise the girl and risk alienating her.

This close to the event Fleur was still getting invites (naturally), and not all of them were from underclassmen, so all she had to do was swallow her pride and make sure that the next person to ask her to accompany them would be the last – all she had to do was say yes and that would be the end of it. Simple. Done. No more thinking on that matter. And even if they were hideous, several years younger than her, had _three_ left feet, there would be no more hesitating.

God, she really was desperate.

So all that left was finding an appropriate space to practice and prepare for the second task. Easy. Really.

A great body of water… besides the aptly named Black Lake? Stacking her books to take to the returns desk (the librarian was merciless, especially to those who didn't put things back in the right place so it was always safer to just give them to her when you were done) she considered the problem before her.

The Black Lake would be preferable, but was also likely to draw the attention of the other Champions. So, she needed somewhere easily accessible, somewhere that no one would question her presence, but also had access to water, and ample space so as not to blow herself to pieces if a hex or charm backfired.

For all her wanderings through the castle trying to covertly locate Hermione, Fleur couldn't think of a room or space that would suit her needs. Chances were any of the older Hogwarts students would know of somewhere, maybe those red-headed twins, they certainly seemed to know the castle well. But they were also close to the Potter boy, and she couldn't afford for anyone to find out what she needed the practice space for.

So… not so easily resolved then.

From the looks of it the other Champions had seemed to have hit a wall as well. At least Harry (if Hermione's efforts were anything to go by) seemed to have hit one. So far the other two didn't seem to be pursuing answers to their clue, so at least she was at the head of the game. Hopefully.

Still, the amount of reading material Hermione was able to siphon from the depths of the library on any given topic was absolutely phenomenal. Unfortunately for her though she was looking in all the wrong sections. Fleur would have loved to point her in the right direction, towards the section on magical creatures, but no matter how good of a friend Harry was to Hermione, or his apparent unwillingness to actually be part of the tournament, they were competing against each other.

Fleur had placed third in the first task while Harry came first, and she couldn't afford to lose any advantage she managed to scrounge up. Winning was what she came here to do, and with a little luck it might even win her Hermione's heart, though she hoped to win _that_ before the conclusion of the tournament. A lady's favour before a melee always brought good luck, and this wasn't so different, not really.

Images of herself wrapped in gilded armour astride a pure white destrier, with Hermione handing her a token, something glorious that looked curiously like a red and gold scarf, crept up on her, much like the low lying loans desk.

Swallowing the hiss of pain, limping slowly towards the double doors, Fleur almost forgot to put her books _on_ the desk. Thankfully the entrance to the library was empty, save for one or two younger students, so the brilliant red of her cheeks and no doubt purple bruise she could feel growing on her upper thigh went unnoticed.

Then a stifled laugh hit her ears.

_Merde_.

Of course. It _was_ the library after all, and she did have the worst timing when it came to her.

"Keep that up and you won't be able to dance at all on Saturday," That cheeky grin was going to be the death of her. That, and the soft sway of her hips.

Fleur counted herself lucky not to walk into the doors as well on her way out.

_Ok, breath_. _Just focus, one step at a time_.

Preferably starting with dinner. Then she could worry about finding somewhere to practice, and Hermione… Sometimes she really hated her life.

While Fleur hadn't had much of an appetite since the welcoming feast at the beginning of the year (this English food really was too heavy for her liking), meals were always a good time to observe the brunette. While she didn't let go per se, Hermione was definitely freer in her interactions with those around her, and while she never forgot her table manners, she wasn't above flicking a bit of food or gravy at the other boys (usually at Gabby's prompting, whom had never had many table manners to begin with), laughing along with their jokes and engaging in the general merriment that seemed to flow around the Gryffindor table.

The walk between the library and the Great Hall was normally short, however this close to dinner the corridors were always full to bursting, meaning it took twice as long as it normally should (and it had nothing to do with the slight hobble in her step. At all.). Still, it gave her the time to consider her plan of attack for later that evening.

There had to be some sort of map of the place, or something for her to get a better idea of potential locations. If she were at Beauxbatons she knew of at least a half dozen unfrequented bathrooms that would suit her needs, even the carriage they had come to Hogwarts in had substantial-

"Oi, Fleur! Do you want to go to the ball with me!?" The shrill cry was more than enough to freeze the dinner traffic, Fleur included.

This could not be happening. No, absolutely not. Earlier resolution be damned, there was no way she had sunk so low as to accept an invitation from one of those red-heads. Absolutely not. Never. Ever.

The look on her face must have said as much, as _this_ particular Weasley seemed to bleach himself of their characteristic colour without so much as a word from her. Really, his interruption had ruined a perfectly good train of thought, and besides she would rather go alone and dance by herself than be caught in public with that, that _boy_.

She still had two more days, even if she had to ask someone herself. That would be more than enough time. And there would be a next time. There had to be.

Right?


	8. Chapter 8

**I would like to apologise in advanced for my prolonged absence - I assure you that this is completely within the realm of normality for my muse, but I fear that this chapter is less than fabulous, so I can't exactly say that the wait was worth it, but think of it as proof that this fic has not been abandoned. Thank you to those who are still reading this story, and for you specifically I have a little present: this entire chapter was built around an easter egg (a particular thought struck me while struggling to write the Yule Ball scene, so this was written instead), and if you can spot the easter egg, and identify where it came from, i'll let you choose where, and when, Fleur and Hermione have their first kiss. So with that said, please enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

"Heads!"

The large package, courtesy of Fred and George, slammed down on the table between the Trio, sending bits of toast and pumpkin juice flying in every direction, with several Gryffindors copping unwanted additions to their breakfast and robes.

Glowering at the smirking twins, Hermione dabbed at a particularly damp spot on her sleeve, before reaching over to brush some crumbs from Harry's hair. The pair had managed to avoid most of the fallout; Ron, however, was not quite as lucky. He had caught the brunt of the explosion, a rather stunned expression on his face as the remains of his breakfast leeched onto the floor, scrambles egg and pumpkin juice sticking to his front.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" Throwing his own glare at the twins having somewhat recovered from the shock of his breakfast fighting back, before nudging the offending package, now rather damp, out of his plate, and accepting the serviettes that Hermione had thrown across the table.

"Special delivery from mum," supplied Fred in lieu of an actual response, seating himself down next to his rather disgruntled younger brother.

"Errol dropped it in the hall. We figured it would be better to finish the job ourselves rather than leave it there and hope you trip over it on the way out." Added George, knocking some toast onto the floor as he plopped down on Ron's other side.

"What is it?" Ron asked, eyeing the soggy carton with some trepidation, poking it with his fork as if doing so would help to reveal its secrets. It didn't, but the action did manage to knock it into another jug of pumpkin juice.

"Watch it!"

"That is disgusting!"

"Oh god, it's spreading!"

"Oh for goodness sake, move over."

A few waves of her wand and expletives later, Hermione managed to contain the mess much to the surrounding Gryffindors relief, all of whom were now glowering at the youngest Weasley in their midst, muttering under their breath as they tried to repair the damage to their uniforms.

Flushing darkly under the attention, Ron attempted a more subtle appraisal of the rather large, flat box that seemed to be enjoying his eggs more than him at the present moment. Aside from the dressing of egg, crumbs and juice, it seemed like a perfectly harmless box, but the light grins on the twins' faces had him on edge.

"What?" Narrowing his eyes at his older brothers, not liking the way they were hemming him in, blocking off all possible escape routes. Well aware of their penchant for practical jokes, the probability of the package being from his mother seemed relatively low, especially when it was the twins who delivered it the final leg of the journey.

"Not going to open it?" Fred asked, the small smile spreading into predatory grin, totally suggestive of the fact he knew _exactly_ what was in the parcel.

Ron shifted uncomfortably, with Hermione and Harry leaning further away from the potential danger zone. With the way George's grin grew to match his brother's there was very little chance of the contents being safe to open in such a public scenario.

"Why don't you open it," Ron suggested, pushing the damp box towards Fred, narrowly missing a toast tray.

Shaking his head with a sly smile, Fred pushed it back, being somewhat less careful, and sending a pile of sausages rolling down the length of the Gryffindor table.

"Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise, _Ronnikins_, regardless," He continued, with a dangerous glance at George, "It would be plain bad manners to open other people's mail, wouldn't it George?"

"Exactly. Besides, _Ronnikins_, you wouldn't be scared of a little box from your mother, would you?"

Ron paused, totally uneasy about the possible repercussions of opening the box versus leaving it there in the Great Hall. Glaring at the twins, Hermione drew the wary boy's attention away from the package.

"For goodness sake, Ron, either open it now and be done with the whole thing, or take it back to the dorms to open later if you're so concerned."

The twins threw a disapproving huff in her direction, one she matched with another glare, causing them to deflate somewhat in their indignation at the thought of missing the show.

Harry just sat there quietly, looking between the four of them, subtly edging away from Hermione who had unwittingly moved closer to the three Weasleys to scold them properly. He very much doubted that it was _that_ bad, whatever the parcel contained, figuring it probably was from Ron's mother, and not the twins, even if they did know what it was about. It was probably just something embarrassing.

Like new underwear.

Though judging by the size of the box, they would have to be huge.

Perhaps they were granny undies. That would be pretty embarrassing to open in the middle of the Hall, especially with so many Gryffindors leaning closer to see what all the fuss was about.

Or maybe that was just to see where all the flying food was coming from.

"What's the worst that can happen?" Harry asked quietly, tugging at one of the strings to start unwrapping the parcel.

With a long suffering sigh Ron peeled the layers of soaking paper away, gingerly handling each piece as if afraid that something would come flying out at him. With every side that was uncovered, the twins' smiles grew, thoroughly enjoying the building tension.

With the lid finally gone, after being torn off by Hermione who was beyond annoyed at the way Ron's hands were shaking by that point, the group was relatively dumbfounded at the pile of cloth stacked inside.

"What is it?" Harry asked, lifting a flap, nose wrinkling at the dusty smell that was puffed over the table with the action.

Ron looked horrified as he lifted it up completely, face flushing scarlet to the tips of his ears.

"Mum sent me a dress!"

"She sent you a tent." Hermione laughed at the flushed scowl on Ron's face, leaning over the table to get a better look.

Pulling Harry up with her, the pair tugged the robe free from Ron's grip holding it open over their heads.

"What do you think you're doing?" He growled, trying to snatch the magenta horror back as scattered laughter rang out across the hall with students from all three schools turning to watch the show unfolding in the middle of the Gryffindor table.

"Looking for the Russian circus, I think it's still in here."

Harry handed the robe back to Ron, shaking his head at a smirking Hermione, who was graciously accepting a high-five from the twins who snickered alongside the pair.

"Ha-ha, very funny," He groused, stuffing the robe back into the box, looking to almost match it in colour as the amusement of his friends increased.

"Harry seems to think so," She replied cheekily, shoving the boy in question who was trying very hard not to upset Ron, failing to contain his grin.

Snatching up the box to stop wandering hands from pulling the robe back into public view, Ron dropped it to the floor beneath his feet, shoving aside his decimated plate in search of a clean one to finish eating in peace.

"Aww, did we upset you, _Ronnikins_?" George teased, reaching through the mess in front of him to serve himself up, spearing one of the sausages that were still within reach.

Ron just grunted, leaning further into his plate to avoid looking at anyone, painfully aware of the questing eyes from further afield trying to determine what all the fuss had been about.

"I think we did," Fred replied, pulling a piece of toast out of Ron's grasp in lieu of finding something edible for himself, causing Ron to scowl at him before continuing to shovel egg and sausage into his mouth at an alarming pace all the while.

Hermione turned back to her newspaper, frowning at the smudged pages, which Harry had very unhelpfully tried to repair when she wasn't looking. It wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't activated the translation charm, but seeing as she was less than fluent in… Chinese? she would have to forgo her morning reading. Which was a shame really, she always did enjoy starting her day with the funnies printed in the back.

Tossing the ruined paper aside, preparing to leave the boys to their breakfast, a flash of white caught her eye.

Pointing to a swath of frills resting in Ron's lap, Hermione asked, "Ron, what is that?"

As he lifted the offending piece in confusion, her smile grew.

"Forget to put your knickers on this morning?"

Hermione fled the hall with a stream of expletives chasing after her, leaving a stuttering and scowling Ron in her wake, the Gryffindor table falling over themselves in laughter.

It wasn't quite the cartoon she had been hoping to read, but it was as good a way as any to start the day.

Hermione breezed to her first class with a wide grin on her face, completely oblivious to the pale figure who smiled softly after her.

It may turn out to be an even better day than she had expected.


	9. Chapter 9

**Firstly, I would like to thank everyone who is still following this story, and I suppose an apology is in order for the massive delay between updates, but I'm not going to make false promises of a regular schedule, but never fear, this story will go on for much longer yet. Also, a confirmation that the _when_ of the first Fleur/Mione kiss has been arranged, but the rest of you will just have to wait and see when that is. This is the longest chapter I've written so far, and I hope it makes up for the massive absence. Please enjoy.**

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Hermione was terrified.

Hind sight is twenty-twenty, and faced with the very real prospect of going to the Ball on the arm of Viktor Krum made Hermione severely regret agreeing, even if the proposal had only been accepted to spare the older boy's feelings.

And to make matters worse she was now beginning to prune, unable, as it were, to leave the relative safety of the shower in which she was currently hiding, particularly in the face of the snide remarks from the other girls about who she could possibly be going with, seeing as Neville, Ron and Harry all had their own dates, none of which were Hermione.

The sneers on their faces accompanied by the thinly veiled probes about who could possibly have asked her as the only three boys insane enough to do so were already taken was really starting to get to her. The inane twittering that echoed throughout the communal bathroom being more than enough to deter a timely exit on her part, even if she was beginning to resemble a drowned rat at this stage - with very wrinkly skin.

Idly tracing patterns in the condensation on the shower wall as she waits for the other girls to exit the bathroom, Hermione can't help but be grateful to magic for the unending supply of hot water. It would render her hiding place quite useless if she was suddenly left to drown in a freezing deluge. So, magic was definitely a win.

The sudden absence of chatter, followed by the loud slamming of the bathroom door, had Hermione cautiously opening her stall a fraction, peering through the gap, first one way, then the other, making sure the coast was clear before widening the gap just enough to stick her head out, repeating her examination of the room.

That she looked mighty ridiculous as she did so, and would have been extraordinarily embarrassed if anyone was there to witness her covert assessment of the room (dripping wet and peering through a curtain of hair that made it really quite difficult to make out any sort of detail), escaped her at present as Hermione breathed a sigh of relief that she was, in fact, quite alone. Shuffling her towel clad figure (after much hair flicking and general fussing to remove the gluggy clumps from her face) towards the exit, fully intent on repeating her stall-exiting strategy before evacuating the relative safety of the bathroom.

One step, then another, Hermione slowly edged her way towards the door, toiletries held tightly against her chest. Hermione wasn't the prayerful type, but she hoped desperately that the absence of female bodies in the bathroom itself meant that her dorm mates had all retreated to the common room to wait for their dates, rather than congregating in a giggling herd in the dorm, making snide remarks about her dateless-ness – well, they were in for a world of surprise on that account, that was for sure – but still, that didn't mean that she was comfortable getting ready for said date in front of an audience, small though it may be.

To Hermione's immense relief the dorm was empty, but to her great disappointment this meant that she no longer had a viable excuse to put off getting ready, something that she would have to do soon if she was going to achieve anything other than a frizzy mess with her hair.

Not that she had the faintest idea of what she was going to do with it, other than straighten it. Dressing up wasn't really her kind of thing.

This was followed by a brief debate about whether she should get dressed first or wait until she had done her hair and makeup (dress first and risk getting unmentionables down her front, or wait and risk ruining said hair and makeup). This argument was settled upon realising, that yes, her dress did zip three-quarters of the way down, only to be superseded by another – spell her hair dry or do it manually? The sleek-eezy potion recommended drying hair before use, but it hardly specified to what degree.

And so the process of internal arguments (procrastination) repeated with the application of the potion (dumping the whole thing on her head versus brushing it in), how to actually wear her hair (up versus down versus a combination of the two, and really, why didn't she think to decide this earlier?), only to realise that she had just over an hour left, and was still failing at the half-up-do she was attempting for the first time in her life, her makeup lying untouched on the table top before her, and dress laying neatly across her bed.

Hermione had never felt so much like crying over something so trivial in her life.

This whole day was looking to be a seriously bad decision in a history of bad decision making since befriending Harry and Ron. What possessed her to agree to this date? She had no interest in boys, no interest in anyone really, and she absolutely was not another one of those silly, vapid, insecure young girls that needed someone on her arm to make herself feel worthwhile.

She wasn't.

Which was why Hermione was seriously considering packing the whole thing in, feigning sickness and making the appropriate apologies to Viktor at a later date. And to make matters worse, it was on the verge of tears, face resting securely in her hands (long since having abandoned any attempt to fix her hair), that Gabrielle had to find her.

"'Ermione?"

The exact same little girl who she had turned down, ensuring that Gabrielle would not be able to attend the night's festivities, all to go on a very public date with a boy she barely even knew.

God, she was an awful person.

"Hello, Gabrielle," Forcing a smile that she was painfully aware looked more like a grimace, Hermione tried desperately to pull herself together, in a vain attempt to hide the fact that she was dangerously close to tears over something so frivolous.

Because she _wasn't_ one of _those_ girls.

She wasn't.

True to form, Gabrielle was not deceived.

"Are you well?" The concern on the other girl's face was touching, but Hermione was determined not to let her mini-meltdown progress into a full blown panic attack, so in a false show of bravado she did what any sane person in her position would do: deflect.

And poorly at that.

"I'm fine, really," Hermione replied, waving off the disbelieving expression on Gabrielle's face, turning away from her disaster of a reflection to aid in the deception process. It was rather difficult to convince yourself that you were fine if such substantial evidence to the contrary was right in front of you. "Anyway, where have you been all afternoon?"

"'elping Fleur," She replied with a nonchalant shrug, whereby helping she meant getting under foot, moving things around, and clunking up and down the room in shoes far too big for her.

Hermione managed a genuine smile at the vague answer, already imaging just how effective Gabby's help would have been in such a situation. That is to say, not very.

"But now I am 'ere to 'elp you." She continued with a cheeky grin, forcefully turning Hermione back towards the mirror, startling the older girl out of her playful imaginings.

"That's really not necessary," Hermione tried to protest, half-heartedly, because really, she could use all the help she could get, but mainly because Gabby had already helped herself to the contents of the vanity, completely ignoring Hermione anyway.

"I zink you were trying for an "up" style, oui?" Hands already busy with brushes and pins, Gabrielle gave Hermione no chance to indicate otherwise, sitting dumbly as the younger (much, much younger, Hermione thought bitterly) girl fixed her hair with a level of expertise that managed to surprise her. Though why she was surprised she couldn't say, given Gabrielle's consistently impeccable appearance the conclusion that she was very proficient in such matters wasn't exactly a disjointed conclusion to draw.

She did manage to nod distractedly though, only to have her head forcibly held in place by her impromptu hairstylist. Most of the Beauxbatons students had retreated to the Carriage to prepare for the ball, having since been cleared for use, but curiously enough almost every student that had been relocated chose to remain in their temporary lodging in the Hogwarts dormitories, something that greatly confused Hermione, especially in the case of the Beauxbatons' Champion.

With Gabrielle securely perched behind her, tongue protruding lightly from between sharp teeth in concentration, Hermione decided now was as good a time as any to ask a question that had been bothering her for a while now.

"Gabrielle?"

An inelegant grunt was Gabrielle's only response, small hands moving swiftly to gather errant strands into the twisting side-bun that would show off Hermione's slender neck perfectly.

"Did you get to choose which House you would go to for temporary housing?" Hermione asked cautiously, yet distractedly, fascinated by the ease with which Gabrielle's hands moved through her typically wild hair.

"Oui," Came her equally distracted reply, frowning slightly as a single strand refused to hold its place.

Hermione started to nod, only to have gentle hands tug her back into position. Not quite the answer she was expecting, because really, had any of the Beauxbatons student's really become good enough friends with any of the Hogwarts students to request being sorted into their house temporarily? Or was it a case of fight for the Ravenclaw dorms, and everyone else had to make do with second, third and fourth best?

And where did Gryffindor place on the spectrum of most desirable temporary housing?

"So, why did Fleur choose Gryffindor, given that Harry is here and would mean sharing a House with another champion? Wouldn't Ravenclaw or Slytherin be a more likely choice?" Seated as she was, she couldn't quite see Gabrielle freeze at her question, her own attention having been quickly redirected to the blonde's hands now armed with various make-up brushes, tugging her away from facing the mirror.

"Per'aphs… But I wanted to be weez you, so ma sœur followed me 'ere." Facing Gabrielle, Hermione could make out the light blush dusting her pale cheeks as she answered, and Hermione decided to test her luck, knowing that the chances of getting a direct answer were slim, but she needed to try.

"And the fact that Fleur didn't object to me sharing with you, even though I got the distinct impression that she didn't like me very much?" If Hermione was expecting some big reveal that helped her to understand the older girl's erratic behaviour, she was to be sorely disappointed.

Gabrielle shrugged, turning back to the vanity to fiddle with some unseen bottle.

Hermione waited for her to turn back around, wondering if Gabrielle would give her any further clarification, but the answer she got wasn't what she expected.

"Fleur, she… she doesn't 'ate you."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Gabrielle's back, because _obviously_, Fleur did ask her to accompany her to the Ball after all. Unless that was a joke and would have just laughed if Hermione had agreed to go with her… and it wasn't as if she had seen the older girl properly since the impromptu invitation. If she didn't know any better she would think that Fleur had been actively avoiding her. But seeing as she _didn't_ really know Fleur at all, that may very well be the case.

Still, there was the rose. Hermione didn't know how long the enchantment would last, but that it had shown no sign of spell decay was quite extraordinary. It would have been a very sweet gesture even if the spell had failed later that same day, and Hermione couldn't help but feel that the invitation had been genuine, not merely an attempt to poke fun at her.

Lost in thought, she hadn't noticed that Gabrielle had finished her make-up, hands twisting nervously before her. Cautiously, Hermione turned towards the mirror.

"Oh, wow." She barely even recognised herself.

"Do you approve?" Came the surprisingly timid inquiry.

Turning back to the anxious girl, Hermione smiled reassuringly at her, tugging Gabrielle's hands out of their anxious grip, holding them tightly.

"Thank you."

Gabrielle just smiled, if a little sadly, in reply, quickly turning to where the periwinkle blue dress was splayed across Hermione's bed. "We should probably get you dressed, oui?"

"Yes, but first," Hermione grabbed the startled girl and placed her in front of the vanity, "we need to get you ready."

"But I 'ave not been invited," Gabrielle protested, trying to worm her way out of Hermione's light grip.

"Then consider this my formal request to accompany myself and Viktor to the Ball." Hermione met Gabrielle's hopeful gaze in the mirror, pressing a soft kiss on the top of her head before gathering up the same brushes that had been used only moments earlier to tame her wild hair.

"I do not zhink zhat zhat eez allowed," Gabrielle replied, but made no move to escape, only settling in further in front of the mirror, watching in shy amusement as Hermione parted her hair to the side, pinning the long fringe behind her left ear with a small butterfly ornament.

"A pox on the rules, no one explicitly stated that you can only have a single partner at the ball, only that you must have one in order to go if you are under fourteen." Hermione smiled down at the blushing girl, gently pulling her over to where her own dress lay across the bed, before pulling open Gabrielle's trunk, sifting through the contents to find something that fit her purpose.

Gabrielle seated herself patiently beside Hermione's dress, playing with the hem, as Hermione pulled out one of her uniforms, before grabbing her wand from her bedside. Gabby smiled at the older girl as she lingered a moment to stroke the petals of the transfigured flower before deliberately turning back to the two piece uniform, wand tapping lightly against her thigh as she considered the garments.

Watching Hermione work with magic was always enthralling, especially when she was attempting a new or tricky piece of wand work. Her breathing would deepen, with her brow slightly furrowed, wrist movements' concise and extremely controlled, pronunciation exact and commanding. She didn't simply use magic, she created with it. It was wondrous to behold.

Gabrielle knew Hermione was advanced for her age, but watching her uniform, sans blazer, be transformed into a short sleeved dress with an intricate lace overlay, a shade darker than the traditional powder blue of the Beauxbatons uniform, was extremely impressive, almost reminiscent of the spells her Maman would employ back home when preparing the house for large social gatherings, or any gathering for that matter.

"It's beautiful," Gabrielle was in awe as she took the dress from a smiling Hermione, admiring the shimmer of the fabric and the slim fit that it retained from its former design.

"Now, I am nowhere as adept as your sister at permanent transfiguration, so the dress will only retain its appearance until ten o'clock, which means you need to be tucked back in bed by then, ok?" It took Gabrielle a few moments to register what Hermione had said, pouting when she realised that it meant she would have to leave much earlier than the rest of the attendees.

"Quelle? Pourquoi?"

Hermione just smiled indulgently, pushing Gabrielle towards the bathroom, "Just hurry up and get changed, we don't want to be late."

Grudgingly Gabrielle took off into the bathroom and hurriedly changed, unable to stay mad long when she caught sight of her reflection. It may not last as long as she would like, but she was going to take full advantage of the time she did have.

"Ready?" Hermione asked as Gabrielle strode out of the bathroom, eager to go show off her new dress, and to hopefully tease Fleur by turning up on Hermione's arm (she had been rather inconsolable since finding out Hermione already had a date, and being beaten by her little sister only added to the sting).

At Gabrielle's nod Hermione took her hand and began the slow descent to the Great Hall, knowing that it was much too late to back out, but glad to have Gabrielle there for moral support. She probably wouldn't have made it to the Entrance Hall without Gabby bouncing a step ahead, hurrying her along.

Just out of sight of the Entrance Hall, Gabrielle jerked to a sudden stop, pulling Hermione to the side, the older girl casting anxious looks at the corner all the while. She gave Hermione a moment to collect herself, gripping the older girl in a tight hug, before springing back with a wide grin.

"Ready?"

Hermione's smile was shaky, but there, nodding once to herself, before taking Gabrielle's hand and pulled her into view of the Great Hall. At the base of the stairs was Viktor, nervously pacing the length of the hall, the other Champions and their dates already arranged to enter the Hall. Hermione's smile strengthened as she watched Harry nod distractedly at whatever Parvati was chattering about, Cedric smiling softly at Cho, and Rodger Davis gazing starry-eyed at Fleur.

Viktor's smile was tinged with relief when he caught sight of Hermione, only looking slightly confused when he saw that Gabrielle was with her, but gallantly offered both arms to the two. Hermione squeezed his arm appreciatively, whispering a thankyou under her breath as they assumed their place at the rear of the line, waving to Harry who was gaping slightly, though whether it was at her appearance or company she couldn't tell, but returned his smile when he finally got in control of himself.

"So nice of you to join us, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall looked to be hiding her smile behind the soft chastisement, striding to the front of the queue, adjusting robes and dresses as she went, barely suppressing a look of disgust at Rodger's absentmindedness.

Only Gabby paid any mind to Fleur's reaction, having to be forcefully turned to face the hall by McGonagall, the knuckle-white grip on Rodger's arm managing to pierce his stupor enough to respond to the Professor's directions. It took everything she had not to smirk at her sister's barely contained rage, though all the same, she was glad to have two pairs between them, because while looks _couldn't _kill, her sister's hands most certainly could.

Though she wasn't quite sure whether it was herself or Viktor who would be dealt the lion's share of her sister's rage. Regardless, she meant to enjoy herself, and if that happened to involve shamelessly flaunting Hermione under her nose, then so be it.

May the best (wo)man win.


End file.
